


Infernal Machine

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Frustration, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock’s inability to switch his brain off at inopportune moments is driving Greg to distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infernal Machine

**Author's Note:**

> Two New Year's resolutions I should have made:
> 
> 1\. Drink less Scotch  
> 2\. Stop writing things at 2am.
> 
> I rarely, however, take my own sensible advice. Hence the following.

Sherlock had fallen silent. This was nothing strange in itself – he was rarely very vocal – but he had also gone still. After several minutes of this motionlessness, Greg stopped, still buried deep inside Sherlock, with a frustrated snarl.

Sherlock didn’t seem to notice.

“Sherlock.”

Nothing.

“Oi!” Greg shook Sherlock’s shoulder, none too gently, until he got a reaction. Sherlock lifted his head from where it was nestled on his forearms, turning it to the side and finally registering the man above him.

“I was just – ”

“I know what you were doing. Could you not just keep your brain turned off for another few minutes?” He knew, and even understood _why_ , there was zero chance of that happening, but he made the futile request nonetheless. “Focus on the here and now?”

“It was important.”

“It’s always important. But right now, _this_ – ” he thrust his hips forward meaningfully “ – is pretty bloody urgent, too.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” Sherlock didn’t sound particularly sorry, but he raised his own hips a little, pressing back into Greg, forcing his cock deeper. Greg bit down painfully on his lip to suppress the groan that threatened to escape, refusing to give Sherlock the satisfaction. “Please continue.”

With an animal growl of unrestrained exasperation, Greg recommenced his interrupted rhythm, snapping his hips forward with fierce need; not so hard as to hurt Sherlock, but with enough force that he couldn’t just return to ignoring Greg, even if (as Greg correctly assumed) his mind _was_ still mulling over that important detail at the same time.

Mercifully, Sherlock didn’t grow still again; he met each of Greg’s forward thrusts with a corresponding backwards push. Greg slid a hand Sherlock’s hip, took hold of his cock in a rough grasp, and began fisting him in time with his own motion. It wasn’t long before the slender body beneath him was quaking with release. Greg grinned in feral triumph, rocking forward one final time as muscles clenched tightly around him and he followed Sherlock over the edge.

As his breathing slowed, Greg bent his head, resting his damp forehead between Sherlock’s shoulder blades. He could feel the rapid pounding of Sherlock’s heart, a twin to his own, through his heated skin. He was, however, allowed only a moment to enjoy his sated contentment before Sherlock gave an impatient wriggle, nudging at the weight against his back.

“Um…Greg, I…”

A low groan rattled from Greg’s throat, but he obediently slid from Sherlock, dropping to his back on the bed beside him, eyes firmly closed in resigned dismay. He threw an arm over his face for good measure. At least the bastard had had the decency to use the correct name.

The mattress dipped and rose again as Sherlock got up, and Greg heard him moving around, gathering clothing.

“I have to go out.”

Greg tried to detect the apology in Sherlock’s tone, convinced it must be there somewhere within the matter-of-fact statement, but merely grunted and lifted his arm to wave the man off, letting it flop back heavily out to his side, leaving his face uncovered, but keeping his eyes resolutely shut. To look at Sherlock would be to forgive him, and right now he wanted to remain pissed off. Because he wasn’t really angry, not beneath the lust-crazed surface – a fact of which Sherlock was also infuriatingly well aware.

The sounds of dressing ceased and there was a moment of still silence before Greg felt the soft touch of lips against his temple: the fleeting brush of a surprisingly affectionate kiss that caught him off-guard and sent all his grievances fleeing, instantly forgotten.

His eyes flew open just in time to see Sherlock sweep from the room, and he finally allowed the smile twitching at his lips free reign.


End file.
